


Index of Coincidence

by Saki101



Series: Other Experiments [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saki101/pseuds/Saki101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the most extraordinary thing to witness the beginning of an experiment and Mike Stamford had done so much more than witness, he’d been the agent of it.</p><p>Excerpt:  “Would you consider giving a few lectures?” Mike asked over pudding.  “The amount of experience you’ve had with trauma couldn’t be gained in five lifetimes here, even in a London A&E.  It would help the students tremendously.  Give them another perspective.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Index of Coincidence

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of [Sometimes](http://saki101.livejournal.com/20398.html) which works as a prologue to the [Experiments Series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/15016.html), where it functions as an AU lens which changes the perception of those stories. _Sometimes_ and _Index of Coincidence_ may also be read separately as an AU series.

Mike’s face shone. He couldn’t help it. It was the most extraordinary thing to witness and he’d done so much more than witness, he’d been the agent of it. 

John turned to Mike, puzzled after Sherlock slipped out the door with a wink.

“Yeah, he’s always like that,” Mike assured John and there was a certain amount of pride in Mike’s voice. 

He was one of several around Bart’s who were bound to Sherlock, one of an even smaller number who knew about the experiment because the very first subject had studied and taught at Bart's and every Holmes since had been an honorary member of the faculty. As soon as he had a chance, Mike intended to make a cryptic note in the records, the ones that weren’t, and never would be, digitalised for easy reference. Right now though, he needed to take John up to his office for a nip of the brandy he kept in his file cabinet because John was experiencing aftereffects. Mike would have loved to scan John’s brain, but he wasn’t going to do that to a friend and it might interfere with the process happening in John’s limbic system. At least that was Mike's theory about which system was affected first. Sherlock had never expressed an opinion on the point.

“Let me show you my office. We can pass by the library on the way. It looks almost as different as the labs,” Mike offered, gesturing towards the door. He wouldn’t show John the records, of course, but they would walk by the locked doors of the Rare Books Room. It might give John a hint. “Listen, I’ve only one class this afternoon, if you’d like to sit in or wait for me in the library, we could have dinner later. There’s a nice pub a few blocks away with good Thai food. I usually eat there when my wife’s out of town with the children.” He saw John hesitate. “I’d enjoy the company,” he added as they walked down the hall. John nodded. He still looked dazed. Sherlock hadn’t given any indication, but Mike thought it would be a good idea to keep an eye on John for a few hours. The records were sketchy in the extreme on the early symptoms, but if John was anything to go by, irritation and distraction were two of them. Mike noticed that John’s hand kept straying to the pocket where his phone was stowed.

********** 

At dinner, Mike was pleased to note that John’s appetite was good. John had relaxed after he perused the menu, the prices in the pub were very reasonable on a weeknight. It was good to have more of an opportunity to catch up. So much had happened to John since they last met shortly before John was sent abroad for the first time.

“Would you consider giving a few lectures?” Mike asked over pudding. “The amount of experience you’ve had with trauma couldn’t be gained in five lifetimes here, even in a London A&E. It would help the students tremendously. Give them another perspective.”

John cocked his head. “I’ve only been back a few weeks, but it feels remote, a lifetime away.” Mike watched John’s hand stray towards his jacket pocket again, even though the jacket was folded on the chair next to John. “Except at night. It comes back vividly sometimes then,” John added, his hand moving away from his jacket to reach for his water glass.

“It might be good to talk about it as a professional, with colleagues. They’re young, of course, but talented, eager to absorb. What you share with them could save an accident or crime victim’s life. Although we get more knife wounds than bullet ones.” Mike raised his eyebrows and sighed. “They’re often worse.”

“Like shrapnel wounds,” John said and nodded. Mike could see John picturing the various types of injuries, the possible repairs for each. He smiled at John across the table. Doctors had different dinner table conversation than most people. It was a good thing his wife was one, too. Another woman might have objected to it. “Coffee?” he asked. John nodded and smiled back. It was good to see. Mike still wished he could take at least a blood sample.

******** 

The bells of St Paul’s were tolling nine when they parted at the tube station. John seemed in far better spirits than he’d been in the park at noon, his limp less pronounced as he headed down the stairs, his crutch held up in one hand in front of him as he grasped the handrail. Sherlock and the therapist were right about the limp. It was largely psychosomatic.

Mike glanced up at the slice of the cathedral framed by the modern buildings near the tube, waited for the sound of the last bell to fade before he turned away. His flat was close enough to walk and he didn’t get enough exercise as his wife was fond of telling him. He wondered how life would proceed at 221B Baker Street now. There was no doubt that John would keep the appointment the next evening or that he would move in with Sherlock, but the actual logistics of living with Sherlock would be interesting to hear about. And Mike would hear because Sherlock was at Bart’s almost as much as he was at Baker Street. _Perhaps that will change._

The 25 bus stopped to let off a couple passengers just as Mike was passing the first bus shelter. He considered for a second, reached inside his jacket for his Oyster card and got on.

******** 

John wasn’t limping the next time Mike saw him, no crutch in sight. John was coming up the stairs from the mortuary with Sherlock and someone from the Met that Mike saw about from time to time. Sherlock had cured the limp already. Mike smiled at them as he passed. John smiled back and Sherlock gave him a wink that the others didn’t see. Sherlock’s gait seemed even more fluid than usual and John was mesmerised by what Sherlock was explaining. So Sherlock was continuing to explain things to John. John might have realised by now what a mark of favour that was.

Mike turned into the mortuary, noticed the two bodies being wheeled away, couldn’t help being curious as to what Sherlock had just proved based on their mute evidence. “Molly, what did he want to check?” 

“Who?”

“Sherlock,” Mike replied.

Molly glanced away. “Don’t worry, Molly. I know Sherlock’s hard to say no to. So what did he want to see?” 

“The feet,” Molly replied, blushing a little. “Just their feet.”

Mike tilted his head and smiled. He wished he had heard some of Sherlock’s explanation. The explanations were always brilliant, although one had to listen carefully because Sherlock spoke fast. The poor Met fellow had seemed anxious, probably about whatever he had overlooked. But then it was usually easier to see the significance once Sherlock pointed things out, but not always even then.

“Which one is being prepped for my class?” Mike asked. 

Molly consulted her clipboard. “Drawer 18. They’ll be getting him out shortly.” 

Mike nodded. “Feet, huh?” 

This time, Molly smiled. “Yeah, feet,” she agreed, glancing at her shoes and grinning before she headed to her office.

Mike headed for Drawer 18. _How had Sherlock known that morning? He always said he noticed, but what could he have noticed? There had been nothing as substantial as feet to go on._ It would have been amazing enough if seeing John at lunchtime had been planned and Sherlock had deduced that an old friend of Mike’s might be a good candidate, but even then, a good candidate for what? A flatshare? It seemed pretty clear that Sherlock had had something else in mind from the outset and he hadn’t known Mike would be seeing an old friend. Mike hadn’t known. A coincidence? Sherlock spoke fondly of coincidences. Mike wondered if Sherlock could see them, see the numbers converging. Or had Sherlock sensed it in some other way? It had been years since he and Sherlock had discussed the theory that the experiment had been contrived to conceal an unforeseen attraction. The scientist in them both had been intrigued as to what the mechanism might be. Sometimes Mike cursed the vagueness of the records, so inappropriate for experimental purposes, but the reasons were understandable. He wondered if John understood what was happening to him yet. They had both seemed so happy just now on the stairs. Not the usual sentiment coming up from the morgue, but then nothing was usual with Sherlock. 

Mike stopped with his hand on the handle of Drawer 18. _What if John, although promising, isn’t the right candidate in the end?_ Mike thought about John’s admiring expression as he'd drunk in every word Sherlock was saying, Molly’s bashful adoration. He remembered that John’s number was in his phone and decided the time to use it was overdue.


End file.
